all's well that ends well--- and all that
by celaenos
Summary: Joan Watson never expects to be a Jaeger pilot. And she certainly doesn't expect to wind up being drift compatible with her partner's murderous, crazy ex. (Joaniarty Week, prompt: Pacific Rim Au)


**this is a prompt for joaniarty week. the characters might feel just the slightest bit occ to fit in with the jaeger pilots narrative. i apologise for that, but i tried to keep them as on point as i could. as always, any feedback is greatly appreciated and i hope you enjoy. this was supposed to just be a quick little 2k fic, but as you can see, it spiralled. your gain i suppose:)**

* * *

The tests come back... and they're drift compatible. She'd felt it during the test, their bodies working in tandem, staffs hitting each other point for point, but she'd been hoping to god she was wrong. Joan has to actively work not to scream in front of everyone. She can feel the intensity of Sherlock's gaze on her, but she looks to her left instead.

She's _smirking_.

Joan grits her teeth, stands, and says, "thank you sir," to Marshall Gregson before walking out of the room. Sherlock follows her, because of course he does. He's talking a mile a minute, saying she doesn't have to drift with her, they'll fight it, the two of them can drift as planned, or Joan can help him out of the jaegers; the research division is just as important as the fighting. The work they've been doing thus far can continue. They reach Joan's bunk and she stops, standing there without opening her door.

"We can figure it out Watson. You don't have to fight with her." He repeats.

"I know that." She says softly. And she doesn't want to. Not in a million years does she want Moriarty in her head; and Joan certainly doesn't want to be inside of hers. But... not fighting... Joan can't comprehend it. Which feels odd, fighting had never been something she wanted before. Some of her classmates had dropped out of med school and signed up with the Jaeger Academy right after the first kaiju attack in San Francisco. Joan hadn't even contemplated it. The world would need doctors just as much as they'd need pilots. And medicine was something Joan understood. Huge monsters, not quite. But then, she'd lost a patient and she hadn't been able to trust her own hands anymore. The scalpel that had once felt so natural in her hands, now caused them to shake every time. Unsteady, unable to help anyone, she'd been floundering. Time passed and her license expired, her guilty conscious weighing on her, she hadn't bothered with renewing it. Didn't trust herself anymore.

Her mother had had quite a few words to say about that.

…

…

Weeks later she runs into Carrie—an old friend from med school—and after a few awkward minutes, they can almost talk like normal. Like the old days. If not just a little stiff with each other. Carrie's still at the hospital, tells her about a sober companion working with one of her patients and something clicks inside Joan for the first time in months.

She works with three other patients before Sherlock. It's not the same as surgery, but it's something. And her hands don't shake as much anymore.

Kaiju parts go on the black market, more than anything, people start using the electric blue saliva kaijus release as a drug. Shooting it up into their veins and nearly killing themselves in the process. It's Sherlock's drug of choice. It's why Joan's invited into the Shatterdome in the first place; Sherlock can't fight anymore, no longer compatible with anyone, no longer reliable, not able to handle the drift. Being around kaiju parts is a requirement of his research, and Joan becomes his babysitter. (His term.)

The research is fascinating. Joan's never really thought about the kaijus other than being afraid of what they can do. Now, she knows the ins and outs, knows more about the breach than most of the pilots. And her hands shake less and less as the months go on. Sherlock consumes himself with his work, drugs shoved far back into a tiny corner of his mind. He complies with all of Joan's requirements, goes to meetings, and makes leaps and bounds with his research.

Sherlock's never been particularly open with anyone, but over time, he finally admits what caused him to start shooting kaiju junk into his veins. Irene Adler had been his co-pilot—and much more. She'd apparently sneaked out and gone on a solo run, a suicide mission if there ever was one. No one person can handle the neural load all on their own. Even Joan knows that. They never found the body, the empty jaeger was ripped apart, and Sherlock was never the same again.

The two of them practically live down in the research bunker, days spent with no sunlight, constantly working around the clock. As interesting as it is, Joan can't stand being cooped up all the time and she starts training with the pilots as a workout. The combat is intense and wakes her body up much more than running ever did. Before she knows it, she can hold her own pretty well.

When her time with Sherlock comes to an end, he offers for her to stay on, continue helping him with his research. Be his partner. She hesitates, but now that she's immersed in the world of jaegers and kaijus, and Sherlock, going back to anything else feels... less than. So she agrees.

…

…

M is the most notorious jaeger pilot in the world. Joan's been hearing stories since med school. No one believes he's real. He's a myth. A legend. The single human able to pilot a jaeger solo. He can handle a category five all on his own; something no one has ever even seen before. People talk about him and laugh, use him as a story to keep their spirits up.

Sherlock tracks whispers about him from all over the world. He's got a whole thick manila folder dedicated to him. He tells Joan he finds conspiracy theories entertaining with a shrug when she stumbles upon it.

…

…

Kaijus start coming out of the breach more and more, and there's hardly any category ones anymore; nearly everything is a three or a four and their loosing more and more pilots. Marshall Gregson asks Joan to start pilot training officially. No more working out for fun or her health, they're short on pilots and Joan can't really find it in herself to say no. Which of course causes Sherlock to start training again, "if you're getting in a jaeger, you're getting into one with me Watson."

…

…

It's when M becomes Moriarty that things get interesting. It's when they find out that Moriarty is _Irene_ that Joan thinks Sherlock is going to relapse. He nearly does, and Marshall Gregson benches him, again.

Joan finds him down in their lab, destroying everything in his wake, screaming at the top of his lungs. She grabs her practice staff and smacks him on the shoulder, shocking him into silence.

"What are you doing?" She yells.

He stands there, shaking with rage, then drops down to the ground like a child. "How can they allow her here?" He hisses.

Joan sighs and squats down to the floor in front of him, "because she's a good fighter, and we're pretty short on those right now."

"She is a toxic, manipulative, ruthless, _liar_ who has no place imposing that on anyone's mind."

"Yeah, she's a bitch, but we need her and you don't have to fight with her anymore."

He looks up at her, seething, "_I missed it_."

"Missed what?"

"Her." He spits out, "she was never Irene, she was Moriarty the whole time. I was inside her head and _I missed it_."

Joan sighs, "it's not your fault." She dares to reach out and touch his arm, he jolts at the contact, but relaxes after a moment. "Sherlock, she's a professional liar and murderer."

"And I missed it."

"I don't think you did, I think she was the woman you saw, she just kept certain parts hidden."

"Murderous parts." Sherlock snaps, petulant, like a child. And Joan bites back a smile.

…

…

Sherlock never trusts her, but he calms down as the days pass on. Moriarty takes great pleasure in toying with him and it sets Joan's teeth on edge. They fight, and no one is a match for Moriarty. Sherlock refuses to test with her, and no one bothers forcing him.

Her taunting gets to him though; she comes down into the bunker, solves some of the equations he's been working on for ages, and Sherlock retaliates by drifting with a goddamn kaiju brain. He nearly kills himself, and Joan is forced to be a doctor again. Her hands shaking as she checks him over. She turns and sees Moriarty. She thinks there is real concern for Sherlock on her face, but she knows how good an actress the woman is, and stalks past her without a word.

Moriarty seems to move on from Sherlock, Joan finds herself constantly looking over her shoulder and finding Moriarty there. Staring at her. She lets herself into Joan's bunk one night, asking about her partnership with Sherlock, and calls Joan a _mascot_.

Joan laughs in her face.

"You're not afraid of me." Moriarty says, Joan detects a hint of excitement in her voice. And she's sick of being looked at like a piece of art, or meat. She's not a goddamn game for Moriarty to figure out. They're living in an honest to god apocalypse, she doesn't have time for this shit.

"Too angry to be afraid." Joan snaps back. "I've got a lot more on my mind than your idiotic games with Sherlock. He's a person you know."

Her eyes narrow, and she rakes them over every inch of Joan's body. She has to fight the urge to cover herself up. Moriarty would see it as a weakness.

"My dear Watson," she steps closer now, pressing herself into Joan's personal space. "I'll see you at training tomorrow." She reaches up, brushes some of Joan's hair out of her face, then flits away.

…

…

Joan and Sherlock are sparring with Ms Hudson, Alfredo and Marcus, when Moriarty walks in, ignores them all, picks up a staff and moves around the room with agility that Joan's never seen before. It's impressive. And it's annoying. Joan can't help but be captivated by her movements. It's like watching a ballet. When Sherlock does a leap exactly like Moriarty, almost in tandem, Joan realizes they must have been truly something in a jaeger together. She tries to copy the move, see if she can push her body to do it, and fails.

Falls right on her ass.

Ms Hudson laughs at her, holding her hand out to pull her back up. Joan shoves her with her staff and Ms Hudson only laughs harder. Alfredo joining in behind her. Joan maturely sticks her tongue out at both of them and tries again.

She manages to stay upright this time, but that's about the only improvement.

"Lift off more from your left leg."

Joan whips around at the sound of her voice. Moriarty is standing behind her, leaning on her staff. Joan doesn't want her advice. She ignores her and tries it again.

And falls on her ass, again.

Moriarty tuts behind her and Joan wants to pick up her staff and crack her across the face with it. She's not sure where these violent fantasies are coming from, but she has no problems blaming them on Moriarty's presence in her life.

Joan tries the move once more, and nearly twists her ankle. Hissing as she comes down on it wrong. Moriarty and Sherlock are both at her side in an instant; Sherlock practically growling at Moriarty until she's stepped back. He lifts Joan's leg and checks her ankle. "It's fine." Joan insists.

"Watson—"

"_I_ was the doctor remember? I'm alright." She rolls her ankle and pretends both their eyes aren't on her. Alfredo spins around in the air and knocks Ms Hudson off her feet, Marcus cheering as he helps her up. Joan grins at him. He's been trying to nail that for weeks. She stands, testing the weight on her ankle and deems it fine, bouncing on her toes for a minute, and Moriarty walks away.

"She's right." Sherlock says.

"Hum?"

"Ire—Moriarty, if you lift off more from your left leg, you will perfect the landing."

Joan sighs and tests her foot once more, then tries it the way Moriarty and Sherlock said.

She lands it perfectly.

The smirk on Moriarty's face doesn't even bother her.

…

…

Joan can't contemplate not fighting anymore, can't go back to research in the bunker. Not when she knows how to stretch her body, push it to the limits, knows she can help.

The test doesn't lie, she and Moriarty are drift compatible, so Joan agrees to pilot with her.

She can feel Sherlock's anger from across the room, but there really isn't anything she can do about it.

Moriarty corners her in the dinning hall before they're set to do their first practice run. "Do you think it possible to truly know another person?" She asks, catching Joan off guard. "They say with the drift it is, but... I've found it's quite easy to keep certain things hidden inside yourself when one tries hard enough." She twists around, her eyes narrowing, looking at Joan intently. Every movement is feral and feline and Joan should feel like pulling herself away, but she catches herself stepping closer. "Sherlock never got there. But he came very close." She looks away, thinking of things Joan isn't privy too and it feels like a dismissal.

"I guess we'll find out." Joan says, and leaves her to it.

Their first neural handshake goes horribly. Joan panics and almost falls out of the drift, the memories hitting her from all sides, vast and painful. Even Moriarty seems distressed and she's done this many times before. When their memories mold, it comes on fast, in flashes, like watching a movie speed up. Joan can't stop anything from pouring out of her head. Her father, innocently looking for him on the streets with Oren, her first kiss with Jeremy Walker in ninth grade, graduation day, the proud look on her mother's face, the first time she'd been with a girl in college, failing a huge exam in med school, finding out her step-father had cheated on her mother, hearing about the kaiju attacks, Mr Castoro dying on her table. Everything spills out so fast she can't stop it. At the same time, Moriarty's memories are pushing their way into her brain. One after another. She sees her drifting with Sherlock, feels the real affection there, sees how pragmatic and ruthless Jamie truly is. Watches, as Jamie kills kaiju after kaiju, feeling the adrenaline rush as if she had been there. Hears her screams and feels her own body rip apart as Jamie gives birth to a baby girl. Feels her emotions shut down afterwards, lashing out at the men she employees to keep them in line and afraid of her. Looks down at her hands and sees the blood—the human blood—Jamie leaves it there, let's it congeal until she isn't afraid of it anymore. Until she feels nothing.

When Joan sees herself the way Jamie sees her, she feels her gut tighten and lurches forward in her harness. Unable to keep control, her memories spiral. And she's seven again, watching Oren yell at a dirty old man on the street, refusing to admit he's her father, covering her ears and screaming for him to stop. Jamie screams at her. Pulling her back to reality only partway and the next thing Joan knows, the world is coming back into focus and she's in Jamie's arms on the floor.

Joan pushes herself away, still shaking and the rawness she feels is reflected right back at her in Jamie's eyes. "Are you okay?" Joan croaks, and reaches up to brush tears off of Jamie's cheeks.

Jamie snaps at her and pulls away, furious and embarrassed. Sherlock stands between her and the door, and he glares at her as she sprints past him.

She refuses to speak to anyone for days afterwards. When Sherlock makes a joke during mealtime, Joan snaps at him; shocking him and everyone in the dining hall. Joan stalks out of the room, heads straight for Jamie's bunk and lets herself in. (Sherlock taught her to pick locks ages ago, and Alfredo gave her more lessons; she's nearly as good as he is now. She's far surpassed Sherlock.) Jamie gives her a dangerous look, and Joan remembers her pressing a knife to a man's throat and slitting it across. More than once. She almost steps back, but she also remembers Jamie tenderly looking at Sherlock while he was sleeping in her bunk. Joan holds her ground.

"Jam—Moriarty," she starts. It's hard to think of her as just Moriarty now that Joan's been inside her head. But the flare of her nostrils is warning sign enough to stick with Moriarty for now. _"Can you stop acting like a child and come eat with everyone?"_ Is what Joan wants to say, instead, she crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe. "Marshall Gregson wants us to drift again after lunch, are you coming to eat?"

Jamie flicks her long blonde hair out of her face and straightens her spine. "I'm not particularly hungry Joan." The way she says 'Joan' with that accent of hers causes Joan to shiver slightly. Jamie smirks when she catches it, and Joan's face flames red. "But I'll see you soon. If you don't mind," she gestures towards the door and slips into her bathroom.

They don't trust each other. Every neural test goes wrong, because they can't trust each other. Joan becomes more and more frustrated and she can tell that everyone else is as well. Joan's biggest problem is that she feels like she's infringing on Sherlock's privacy. So much of his relationship with Irene is revealed to her while they're connected. So much that she can tell Jamie was able to block things from him, but she's unable to do so with Joan.

It's where Jamie's frustrations are coming from. She can't block anything from Joan.

…

…

A kaiju attacks two days later and it doesn't matter that they don't trust each other yet, they get in their still unnamed jaeger and get to work.

There's no need to speak, each thought fires through their brains, Joan knows what Jamie's going to do before she does it and vice versa. But speaking out loud helps them focus, to stay in the moment, in combat, and not in their minds.

Joan stops worrying about anything but the category three kaiju in front of her, and suddenly, she gets why they've been deemed drift compatible. It's a rush being this connected to another human being. Joan's never felt this alive in her entire life. They take it down in record time and everyone in the Shatterdome cheers. Joan rips off her helmet and grins at Jamie, "is it like that every time?"

"No," Jamie says, the barest hint of a smile and confusion on her face. "It's hardly ever like that."

…

…

Jamie lets herself into Joan's bunk that night, scaring Joan out of her skin.

"What the hell!?"

Jamie's eyes narrow, and she stalks forward, towering over Joan."I don't typically misread people, but you're much more clever than I initially estimated. More interesting."

"Excuse me?" Joan pushes past her and switches out her shirt for a tank top to sleep in, refusing to be embarrassed in front of Jamie.

"I've never drifted like that with anyone before. You're the one thing I can't quite figure out." Jamie says, the anger at not knowing something evident in her tone of voice.

Joan honestly has no idea what to say to that, so she just shrugs. "What's to figure out, we're drift compatible right? That's how it works."

"It's not how it worked with Sherlock."

"Maybe you weren't as compatible as you thought. You kept stuff from him, I could feel it."

Jamie's eyes flare dangerously, but Joan's not afraid of that look anymore. She's not stupid, she's seen what Jamie can do to anther person. She's incredibly dangerous. But Joan doesn't fear for her own life as far as Jamie is concerned. She's been in her head, she's seen that Jamie wouldn't hurt her. It's... unnerving.

"It _is_ curious." Jamie says, and just as she'd slipped into Joan's room, she slips out.

…

…

"Your jaeger needs a name." Sherlock says as they eat together down in the bunker. Joan hasn't seen him eat anything in almost two days, she brought food down and all but forced it into his mouth.

"Hum, I suppose. Delta Blue works just fine." Joan shrugs. Sherlock frowns up at her before devouring an egg roll.

"Delta Blue is a horrible name. All jaegers have personalized names. Delta Blue is a stock name, new pilots means a new name."

Joan picks up the tortoise on Sherlock's desk, he's flipped upside-down again. "How 'bout we just call it Clyde?"

"I will not pilot a jaeger called _Clyde_." Jamie sneers from somewhere behind Joan. She nearly drops the tortoise in question. Jamie comes up into Joan's line of view, her arms crossed, impeccably dressed and put together, even in workout clothes. "Besides, jaegers have double names, Clyde isn't enough all on it's own."

Sherlock furrows his eyebrows, thinking deeply. "How about... Diabolical Surgeon?"

"What? No!" Joan glances back and forth between them, Jamie seems to be actually considering it. "_No_," Joan repeats, "I'm not a surgeon anymore."

"So what? I'm hardly described as diabolical these days."

Sherlock and Joan both give her a look.

"Well I said hardly didn't I?"

"Hippocratic—"

"—No." Joan says forcefully to Sherlock. "No doctor or surgeon references. Can't we just do something normal? Colors, and military alphabet, etcetera."

Jamie and Sherlock both share a look, "Watson don't be so boring."

Joan almost does a double take at the sight of them getting along. Jamie sits down across from Sherlock, and picks up some of the leftovers without asking. Sherlock doesn't say a word, lost in thought. Of all the things to get the two of them to be able to sit in the same room without glaring and snapping insults at one another, jaeger names wouldn't have been at the top of Joan's list.

"You were called the Napoleon of crime for a while weren't you? Napoleon would be unique. Hippocratic Napoleon." Sherlock frowns, "doesn't exactly roll off the tongue."

"No doctor references." Joan repeats. Delta Blue sounds better and better by the minute. She sets Clyde down in his cage with some lettuce and presses some keys on Sherlock's laptop, bringing it out of sleep. iTunes is up and Joan scrolls through some songs while the two of them bicker over in the corner. She doesn't hear any real death threats, so she tunes them out. A song pops up and she laughs, the pun latching into her head. Clyde chomps away on his lettuce and Joan grins, "how about Dusty Clyde? She says jokingly.

Both of them turn to her in confusion.

"As in, another one bites the..." Joan points to the laptop. Jamie frowns at her, but Sherlock tilts his head to the side, then grins back at Joan.

"Perfect." He declares.

"What!"

"Wait, no I was joking."

Sherlock slaps his hands against his thighs, "no Watson it's perfect." He jumps up and takes the laptop from her, entering in the new name and sending it out to control.

"I'd rather have Delta Blue." Jamie says with what could be considered a pout if it were on anyone else. "I will _not_ pilot a jaeger by the name of Dusty Clyde. Hippocratic Napoleon would be preferable!"

"Well, it's already been named." Sherlock says with delight.

Jamie huffs and turns to Joan as if imploring her to do something about it. Joan just shrugs. It's sort of growing on her.

Jamie stalks out of the room and Sherlock goes back to his work, leaving Joan sitting there awkwardly. After a minute she rises and says goodbye to Sherlock (who barely notices she's even left) and goes to workout. She's the most inexperienced pilot, and the more practice she puts in the better.

Joan's surprised to find Jamie in the training room. She almost tries to slip out before she's noticed, but they're far too in-tuned with each other at this point.

"If we're to pilot a jaeger with such a ridiculous name, we're going to do it well." She says, and throws a staff across the room. Joan only just catches it. They spar in silence for half an hour. Their bodies anticipating each others every move even out of the drift. Jamie lays Joan flat on her back with one good hit and remains hovering above her longer than necessary. Her eyes flicker down to Joan's lips and her entire body heats up. Angry with the things she's feeling, Joan flips them. Connecting her staff with Jamie's ankle much harder than she'd anticipated. Jamie drops to the ground, clutching her foot.

"Oh shit." Joan bends down and gently inspects it.

"Are we even now?" Jamie bites out with a harsh laugh.

"What? Even for what? I haven't done anything to you."

"You've just clocked my ankle a good one. Payback for something I'm sure."

"It wasn't payback for anything." Joan insists. It was a childish attempt not to be turned on. Which is _not_ something Joan is going to say out loud for the life of her.

"Ah, dear Watson, have I been redeemed then?" Jamie asks, jokingly.

"No." Joan says immediately; then hesitates, "well, yes actually." Jamie's eyes widen, Joan has finally managed to shock her with something. "Not the way you think," she adds. "Redemption isn't absolving you of your past. He doesn't forgive you and he doesn't have to... but he's accepted you. That we need you. There's a difference."

"Quite." Her hands slink up, resting on Joan's stomach. "And you Joan, do _you_ forgive me?"

"What exactly would I be forgiving you for? Stalkery weirdness? Being a murderer? Or being a horrible human being to my best friend?"

"All of the above I suppose."

"Well... then no." Joan hauls Jamie—_Moriarty_ she thinks—up to her feet, looking over her ankle one more time. "Ice that." She says, and walks back to her bunk before she does something she'll regret.

…

…

Joan can't avoid Moriarty forever. They're co-pilots. Kaiju attacks are becoming more and more frequent and while Joan spends the better part of two days hiding out in her bunk, on day three there is another attack.

Joan suits up and harnesses herself into Dusty Clyde's Conn-Pod and doesn't look at Moriarty. She doesn't need to anyway, in a matter of seconds, they're both in the neural bridge and Jamie's in her head. There is about half a second of true embarrassment and then the kaiju screams. Louder and more inhuman than Joan's ever heard. She gasps and even feels a bit of fear inside of Jamie.

"Rangers," Marshall Gregson's voice cracks through their headset, "this is a category five. First we've seen. Renegade Tango will be out to help you in thirty and counting, let's take it down."

Joan and Jamie share a look then, all embarrassment and awkwardness and dislike evaporates, they nod to each other and raise their arms in synch. The ocean is a choppy, dark gray. Joan can't see a bit of blue in it anywhere. Jamie probably could find it. Artist's eye and all. But all Joan sees is dark and rain and then the kaiju surfaces in front of them, the scream even louder than the first one it let out. Joan gulps as she takes it in, it's jaw twisted and harsh, it's teeth jutting in all sorts of different ways, odd, leathery looking gray-green hide, all give off the impression of a shark gone horribly wrong. Electric blue saliva spits out everywhere and she can't believe Sherlock ever put that stuff inside of him. It roars again and slams more leg than fin down into the water. The sound is louder than anything Joan's ever heard and it causes her ears to ring. She freezes. Just for a second, but she freezes.

_'Joan!'_ Jamie thinks, in a slight panic.

"I'm good." Joan says out loud. "I'm good," she repeats and they move Dusty Clyde forward as the kaiju lunges towards them. They brace themselves as trained and take the hit. It slams into their left arm and bites down. Joan screams in pain and Jamie reeves up the plasma cannon as Joan grits her teeth and lands a well placed kick. Jamie blasts the cannon at it three times in quick succession, buying them a few minutes.

_'__You okay?__'_ She thinks.

"Yeah." Joan yells back, the roar of the kaiju drowning out almost everything but Jamie's voice in her head. _'Lift up on the left'_ Joan thinks, and Jamie knows exactly what she's thinking about. They jump in perfect synchronization, spinning into the air and landing down on top of a bewildered kaiju. Joan releases the sword and jams it down into the leathery flesh underneath her. The kaiju roars angrily and bucks them off like it's nothing. The force of it's kick yanking the sword out of it's hinges of the jaeger, it remains stuck in the kaiju's back.

Rain beats down heavily and they are loosing visibility fast, they need to contain this _now_ before it gets any closer to the shore. The kaiju is beyond pissed off at this point; and it barrels towards them, it's twisted shark-like teeth out front and open wide, it clamps down on them again before they can move out of the way. This time they both scream in pain. The electric blue acid searing into the metal of Dusty Clyde.

"Hold on ladies, support is five minutes out." Gregson's voice cracks over the headset. Joan grits her teeth and shoves forward at the same time as Jamie, lifting their arms and slamming them down as hard as they can. It doesn't do much, but Jamie performs some sort of ballet-like dance move that Joan's never seen before and twists them out of the kaiju's grasp.

The acid is seeping into the controls, the warnings of _System Failure_ starts bleating out at them. Joan turns to look at Jamie, and she's nearly knocked over by the open, vulnerable look she receives back. Jamie doesn't tend to talk much while they're in the drift, a few words here or there, (Joan likes to yell. Which shocked her the first couple of times. But she figures, she's spent most of her life trying not to have huge emotional reactions in public, that she's got to let out her frustrations somewhere.) but she smiles at Joan—a genuine smile Joan realizes, now that she's seeing the real thing for the first time—and stands up straight. "Joan my dear, what do you say we go down swinging together? Once more into the breach."

Joan chokes out a laugh, it's ridiculous to think that Jamie's never looked more beautiful at this very moment. Strapped into pilot gear, tired and sweaty and frightened. She finally just looks like a girl. Not the deadly Moriarty, or the mask of Irene, or the mythical M. Just Jamie, the girl.

Jamie grins smugly back at her once that thought reaches her mind through the neural bridge. Joan doesn't even have it in her to be embarrassed right now. Especially not when Jamie thinks the same of her.

"Quoting Shakespeare to our possible deaths?"

"One shouldn't lower themselves just because death is imminent."

The kaiju shrieks and they both jump forward, grinning at each other and slam into it, sending themselves into a tailspin with the force. Joan tries to catch her bearings, and then gasps in pain. Jamie's pain. But it feels like her own. Her wrists feel like they are on fire. She can't see the kaiju, but she thinks there is no way that a category five is down for good after that. Her breathing is erratic, and Jamie is trying not to panic and to get herself standing back in formation. Joan takes the brunt of the neural load and hauls them upright, screaming all the while at the intensity of it. She's been frightened before, but she doesn't think she's ever really thought she might die until right now.

_'There rust, let me die.'_ Jamie thinks with a shaky smile.

Joan yells out with relief as she sees Ms Hudson and Alfredo come up on their left flank in Renegade Tango.

"No rust, buck up. We're not done yet." Joan orders. Jamie just gasps in pain and complies. They have managed to wear down the kaiju enough that with the reinforcements, they get it down and dead for good within twenty more minutes. Scientists already running towards it, to tear it into parts and burn the rest. _Good riddance_. Joan thinks.

Joan can feel Jamie slipping throughout the entire rest of the fight and the second they are back into Shatterdome, Joan shoves the harnesses off and rushes to her. Jamie's body slumps against her, her wrists cut and bleeding much to fast.

"Jamie!" Joan yells, "stay awake!" Medics rush over to them and Joan's got both of her own hands pressed against the wounds as tightly as she can manage.

"All's well that ends well... right?" Jamie says with a bitter laugh. Then her eyes droop closed and a doctor shoves Joan out of the way. She yells in protest, but strong arms grip her waist and haul her backwards. She kicks in a panic until she recognizes the voice.

"Watson!" Sherlock yells, holding her tightly. "Watson, they've got her. You need to get checked out." Joan fights him for two more seconds, then slumps back against him, all her energy drained. He half carries her down to medical. Joan allows herself to be checked over, then demands to know if Jamie is alright. She catches the little twist of a frown on Sherlock's face and feels guilty. But he places a hand on her shoulder and shakes his head. "I've seen this coming, neither of you have been particularly subtle."

"Sherlock—"

"No, Watson it's... it is clearly very different between the two of you than it was for the two of us. I have never seen her like this, nor you for that matter. I'll admit, I was less than thrilled when I figured it out. Watching the two of you drift... it is nothing like it was between the two of us." He takes his hand back, holding his arms against his chest as if he's cold. He looks very young all the sudden. Joan feels horrible. "She's not a good person Watson." He says softly. "I—better than anyone—understand her pull but... a dog that chooses not to bite is still a vicious dog." His shoulders slump a little, but he finally looks at her head on. "I just... want you to be sure you know what you are getting into." He picks at his fraying t-shirt. "I wasn't."

"Sherlock..." Joan croaks, "I... I've drifted with her." She realizes that doesn't mean as much to him as it does to everyone else. Jamie had figured out how to hold things back from him. A feat no one else has ever managed. "I know everything there is to know about her."

Sherlock looks as if he's been punched in the gut for a moment and Joan lifts her body up from the hospital bed with some difficulty. She scoots forward to wrap her arms around him, but he steps back from her. "No, I'm... I'm fine. I just wanted to make sure. That you knew."

"I'm sorry." Joan says, and she is. She has never, ever wanted to hurt him. "I tried not to... I didn't want to care about her." He nods, still looking wounded. "Sherlock, you... she _did_ care about you. I've seen it in her head. She manipulated you—which was horrible, and she's _not _forgiven for—but she did care. Still does."

He swallows and nods, the rest of his face remains unchanged. "Thank you for telling me." He whispers.

"Well sure... you're my best friend aren't you?" Joan smiles up at him. The corners of his mouth twitch up into a small grin of their own volition.

"If we must put juvenile constraints on our relationship, then I suppose."

Joan beams at him, and a doctor walks over. Joan recognizes him as one of the men who took Jamie away earlier. "Is she alright?"

"She's lost a lot of blood, she's asleep. And she won't be able to get back in a jaeger until her cuts are healed. At least two weeks. But she'll be alright."

"Can I see her?"

The doctor nods and Joan turns to Sherlock apologetically. "Go on Watson. I'll see you later."

"Are you sure?"

"Are _you_?"

"Yes." Joan says without hesitation. She's been inside the woman's head, there really is no going back now. No person alive she will ever feel that close to.

He nods, "then yes."

Joan slips off the bed, every muscle aching as she slowly makes her way down the hallway. When she arrives at Jamie's room, she sucks in a breath. She is extremely pale. She's had to have lost much more blood than Joan had initially thought.

She steps into the room lightly, not wanting to wake her if she's asleep. There is a chair next to the right side of the bed, and Joan sets herself down in it and tries to get comfortable.

She has shifted around for the third time in the last few minutes when she stills at the voice, "you're moving too much." Jamie croaks out.

"You're awake!" Joan looks to the monitor again to check her vitals and Jamie laughs at her.

"I remember you insisting quite heavily that you were no longer a doctor. Nor a sober companion."

"You lost a lot of blood."

"So I've been told." She says rather casually.

"You almost died."

"All's well that—"

"Stop!" Joan snaps, infuriated with her cavalier attitude.

Jamie rolls all the way over onto her side, facing Joan. "My dear Watson," she says with a sneer, "do be careful, someone will think you care about my well being."

Joan glares at her, then rises and storms out of the room without another word. _Fuck her_.

…

…

Joan doesn't go back down to medical to check on Moriarty again. She's alive, she certainly doesn't seem to need anything from Joan, and Joan's not going to demean herself if Moriarty is just going to play more games.

Since Moriarty is benched, Joan is too. Alfredo and Ms Hudson take point on all incoming attacks, and Marcus and Gregson are there for backup. Joan spends her days down in the bunker with Sherlock. Neither of them mention Moriarty.

After the first three days, she's apparently healthy enough to make her way out of medical and eat with the rest of them. She still looks far too pale. When she glances up and catches Joan looking, she ducks her head down to her food and leaves with Ms Hudson the second they're finished.

Moriarty comes down to the bunker, a few days later mid afternoon. Sherlock is sitting upside-down on the table, his head dangling down to the air, staring at an equation on the board in front of him. He took his shirt off ten minutes ago, declaring it was restricting him. Joan is cross-legged in front of him on the floor. Bored and restless and wholly uninterested in the equation in front of her. Moriarty walks in, inspects them for a moment, then climbs up and mimics Sherlock's position. Her hair dangles down in front of Joan's face. "What are we doing?" She asks casually.

Joan reaches up and pushes the strands of blonde hair away. "_We_ are solving an equation."

"What does this have to do with kaijus?"

"Nothing," Sherlock says, irritated at the interruption. "This is a break. Down time."

"Hum... have you tried—"

"You are not permitted to speak, nor write, nor solve the equation!" Sherlock yells. "In fact I would be _most pleased_ if the two of you would take your sapphic drama out of my lab." Joan's face flushes a deep red and she doesn't dare look up at Jamie. "In case that was unclear, you are both banished indefinitely." He pushes Joan forward, and then she hears a yelp and a thud as Jamie falls off the table.

"Sherlock!" She yells, "she just had major blood loss less than a week ago!" Joan jumps up to help Jamie, double checking the wrist bandages. Which are totally fine and healing rapidly. "You can't push her off things!"

Sherlock has the decency to look chastised for about half a second, "she's fine. Both of you please go deal with your feelings far away from me."

Jamie picks up a dull butter knife and jabs it into Sherlock's side faster than someone who's just suffered a major blood loss should be able to move. Joan hadn't before, but she's never going to underestimate her again. Sherlock yelps and rolls over, falling off the table himself.

"Don't stab people!" Joan hisses, and pushes Jamie out the door. "And you deserved that." She tells a pouting Sherlock before following Jamie down the hall. "You stabbed him!"

"With a butter knife!" Jamie says, defending herself.

"You can't just go around stabbing people!"

"Why not?" She shrugs, and Joan can see that she truly sees nothing wrong with it.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. She can feel a headache coming on. Maybe it's a good thing she's benched right now. "I shouldn't have to explain that to a grown woman."

Moriarty rolls her eyes and the two walk down the empty hallway in tense silence.

"You've been ignoring me." She says after a while.

"Yes."

Joan can feel Moriarty glaring at her, but she just walks on down the hall.

"Why?"

"I think you should be able to figure that out on your own too." They reach Joan's bunk and she steps inside, turning back to Moriarty and attempting to shut the door.

Moriarty catches it with her foot, and kicks it back open. Before Joan can say a thing, Moriarty leans forward and presses her lips to Joan's. She jumps in surprise, and barely has time to realize what's happening, let alone kiss her back, before Jamie pulls away, "all's well that ends well, and all that." She smirks, "when you're done being angry with me, let's kill another kaiju sometime." And with that, she saunters down the hall leaving Joan standing in her doorframe, a smile etching it's way onto her face.


End file.
